Miss Bull continued her mystic counting. She told Madame a lot of things about the house which were known to most present. Mrs. Jersey laughed and sneered. Suddenly Miss Bull turned up a black card, "You will meet with a violent death," she said, and every one shuddered. CHAPTER II BRENDON'S STORY If Miss Bull wished to make Madame uncomfortable she certainly succeeded. From being voluble, Mrs. Jersey became silent, the fresh color died out of her face, and her lips moved nervously. Twice did she make an effort to overcome her emotion, but each time failed. Afterward she took a seat by the fire, and stared into the flames with an anxious look, as though she saw therein a fulfillment of the dismal prophecy. Her depression communicated itself to the rest of the company, and shortly before ten the friends took their departure. The idea of being alone seemed to cheer Mrs. Jersey, and she accompanied her departing guests to the front door. It was a comparatively thick fog, yet not so bad but that the visitors might hope to reach their homes. For some time Mrs. Jersey stood in the doorway at the top of the steps, and shook hands with those who were going. The boarders, who were old and chilly, were too wise to venture outside on such a dreary night, so Mrs. Jersey had the door-step all to herself. "If you lose your ways," she called out to the visitors "come back. You can tell the house by the red light." She pointed to the fanlight of crimson glass behind which gas was burning. "I will keep that alight for another hour." The voices of thanks came back muffled by the fog, but Leonard and George waited to hear no more. They walked upstairs to Train's sitting-room, which was on the first floor. The windows looked out on to a back garden, wherein grew a few scrubby trees, so that the prospect was not cheering. But on this night the faded crimson curtains were drawn, the fire was lighted, and a round table in the middle of the apartment was spread for supper. On one side a door led to Leonard's bedroom, on the other side was the room wherein George was to sleep. As the fire-light played on the old-fashioned furniture and on the mellow colors of curtains and carpet, Leonard rubbed his hands. "It is rather quaint," he said cheerfully, and lighted the lamp. "Not such a palace as your diggings in Duke Street," said Brendon, stretching his long legs on the chintz-covered sofa. "One must suffer in the cause of art," said Train, putting the shade on the lamp. "I am picking up excellent types here. What do you think?" "There's plenty of material," growled Brendon, getting out his pipe. "Don't smoke yet, George," interposed Train, glancing at the clock. "We must have supper first. After that, we can smoke till eleven, and then we must go to bed." "You keep early hours here, Leonard." "I don't. Mrs. Jersey asked me particularly to be in bed at eleven." "Why?" Brendon started, and looked hard at his friend. "I don't know, but she did."